‘Careful, damn you!’ Masséna growled. He pulled the cloth from the Emperor’s hand and mopped at the blood streaming down the left side of his face. Napoleon could see the small puncture wounds where the shot had struck, and blood and fluid seeping from the marshal’s left eye. He heard the sound of footsteps rustling through the grass as the bearer returned with an officer, Dr Larrey, who had served with Napoleon in Egypt and Syria.

Larrey bent over Masséna and examined the wounds. ‘What happened?’

‘What do you think?’ Masséna growled through clenched teeth. ‘Some careless bastard shot me in the face.’

Larrey glanced round at the Emperor.

Napoleon felt a surge of anger at the clear accusation. He turned on Berthier and glared. ‘It was you.’

‘Me? But sire . . .’

‘It was you, Berthier. It must have been.You lost sense of where you were aiming. It was an accident.’

Berthier opened and closed his mouth in numbed surprise. He looked to Larrey, and then at Masséna, and shook his head. ‘I didn’t . . .’

‘Don’t deny it, Berthier.’ Napoleon grasped his arm. ‘As I said, it was an accident. Masséna is wounded, but he will recover. Isn’t that right, doctor?’

Larrey was examining Masséna’s face closely, and did not meet the Emperor’s stare. ‘Yes, the marshal will recover, but he may lose the sight in this eye. I’ll do what I can to save the eye, of course. Can you stand, sir?’

‘Yes,’ Masséna hissed. ‘I was shot in the face, not my fucking legs.’

He struggled to his feet and Larrey gestured up the slope. ‘Follow me, sir. We’ll take your carriage back to Bayonne. I have my kit there and I can treat you.’

‘Let’s go then,’ said Masséna, and then paused to glare at Napoleon. ‘With your permission, sire.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Go.’

With the doctor gently guiding Masséna by the arm, the two made their way towards the crest of the hillock. Berthier coughed. ‘Sire?’

‘Yes.What is it?’

‘Should I call an end to the shooting party?’

Napoleon turned to his chief of staff with a frown. ‘No. There’s nothing anyone else can do for Masséna. Let the guests enjoy themselves. Except you, of course. You’ve done enough harm for one day. Return to the carriages and wait for the rest of us there.’

For a second it seemed as if Berthier would protest, but the warning glint in Napoleon’s eye challenged the chief of staff to defy him. He drew a sharp breath, clamped his mouth shut and bowed his head before turning to stride away. Napoleon watched him for a moment, and then turned back towards his hide and called out for another gun.